Rusher's Struggle
by Felleran
Summary: Stephen Rusher's normal, everyday, falling apart life is over. He lives in England, where the worst of the specimens hit. The world is being eaten, and he's in no position to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

Stephen Rusher's life has gone to shit. His girlfriend left him for a nomad biker, his bank is threatening to take his house, and now murderous beasts are roaming the above world.

Stephen's teeth clenched the old mag as his hands hurriedly filled the new one. His back ached over being hunched over in the air duct that was protecting him from the group of clots below him. He forcibly slowed his breath. Any second now the clots would notice him. Clots can't climb, but they're savage enough to climb over each other for their next kill.

Stephen's eyes looked across the room he was above. A dozen Clots crawled around and hunched over the bodies. The room was a storage closet he and a group of coworkers took shelter in. Unfortunately, a Crawler sniffed them out and scratched at the door. Somehow, through the screams and cries of pain and fear, a Scrake heard it and tore though he door with his chainsaw. Stephen lunged for the air duct, but his friends weren't so lucky. He knew he would never forget the screams and the sight of the Scrake ripping through the flesh and bones of his friends.

Much like Shaun of the Dead, Stephen stumbled through the last week, dazed from the tragedies of his life. It wasn't until he got to work that his coworkers met him at the main entrance with bludgeoning weapons and would only let him in if he swore to protect an exit that he was told of events. Others left the building to look for supplies like guns, ammo, and food. Eric something handed him a pistol with some extra mags, wished him luck, then left to distribute more weapons to door guards.

Stephen looked around the room as he replaced the mag. He flinched as it made the click. The heads of four Clots turned to face him and he swore they smiled. He twisted into the duct and his fingers scrabbled at the sides, looking for a hold. He pushed himself in and crouched inside the duct. Stephen crawled a few feet before noticing noises inside the ducts. He paused and tried to hear past the pounding of his heart. The ducts branched to the left and right, and he heard crunching, popping, and thunder to the right. He shuddered and he dragged himself through the shaft to the left. He tried to go as quietly as possible, but there wasn't a way to make no noise. He had the sickening feeling that those creatures were crawling through the ducts, but he pushed the thoughts aside. Forward was the only way.

He was going along with his stiff muscles before he froze. _Shock_, he thought, but he couldn't move. The adrenaline was nearly spent in his body. His mind finally realized the truth of what happened to the world and how he was certain to be dead in minutes. His head dropped onto his splayed hands. He felt like crying, like he should be crying, but nothing came out. _This doesn't happen! Only in cheap American movies! _He breathed slowly, in and out, trying to stop the panic from entering his mind.

He mapped the building in his mind. _An entrance was breached, probably, _Stephen thought, thinking of how the building was unsecured. It was only a few hours, it seems, that the security in the building lasted, before someone sounded the alarm. Then it was only seconds before the sounds of gunshots and screams ripped through the offices.

He was on the third floor near the south side, he guessed. _The nearest fire exit's on the East side of this floor. If I keep going straight and right, I should reach the fire exit before long._

Finally catching his breath, he felt his muscles relaxing. He filled his lungs slowly, then raised his head. Resolve flowed through him, and motivation filled his mind. He purposefully crawled another foot forward, making his mind think positively, of living through this apocalyptic future.

The sounds of creatures moving trough the ducts grew louder behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen's knee thudded painfully against the side of the duct. His breath caught. He closed his eyes to listen more carefully behind him, worrying that something heard him. Despite of the sound of the creatures growing closer, he heard distant screams. _That doesn't help my breathing problems, _Stephen sardonically thought.

His mind flashed back to the average day at work. Endless calls permeating the air, papers suffocating his desk, his nose only filled with the smell of ink and coffee. His heart panged at the loss of his life. He realized now how much he loved it.

So many friends he lost! Nearly all of them worked here, so there was barely a chance of them surviving. Two of them lived on the edge of the city. _They're pretty aware of the news. Hopefully they saw this epidemic and went to a safe area, _Stephen thought sadly. His head shook violently, trying to clear his mind of those thoughts. Thinking of them would do him no good.

A hand grabbed his leg and started to tug him back. Stephen's eyes opened as fresh adrenaline surged through him. _Fight or flight, _his brain was screaming. "Flight!" he cried and jerked his leg back. Now, nearly running on all fours, he raced away through the duct. The creature behind him snarled as it gave chase.

His boots and palms gave off incredibly loud noises and they pounded the duct. A horrible clicking noise pursued him. Stephen now remembered his gun, surprised that it hadn't shot off. Guessing that he had a few feet's distance between him and the thing, he twisted his body and landed on his back. He grabbed his gun, lifted his thigh, and placed it against his leg and let off a few shots.

His eyes stared at the creature, unblinking. A bullet somehow shot off the head, leaving a bloody stump as a neck. Another one landed in the shoulder, but there was no blood leaking from the hole. He shuddered, nearly vomiting. _If there's one thing that'll get me through this, it'll be my iron stomach, _he thought sarcastically. Who knows how far they could smell vomit. You never realize how hot a gun's barrel gets from the movies. He blew on his gun, knowing it was too hot to return to his belt. A thought struck him. _If one could reach the vent, others could too. _The smell of the dead thing could attract more_. _He flipped back onto his hands and knees and continued to crawl down the vent. He crawled with the gun sideways in his hand. _  
_

Stephen passed through endless turns before he passed a grate. He stopped and gazed into the room, expecting to only see red. He was surprised to find an empty, untouched office with a view. He grinned when he saw the fire exit through the window.

He pressed his back to vent opposite of the grate and lifted his leg. He kicked the vent as hard as he could but only dented it. The everpresent noise from the creatures paused to his sides, then came back in increased outbursts. Knowing he only had seconds, he reared his leg back and kicked it again, rather surprised when it gave way. His hands braced the sides and he pushed himself through into the office. He looked wildly around the office and found a long, thin box. He jumped on the desk and pushed the box into the vent. His fingers pulled the box back slightly.

He stood there, frozen. Once again, he realized the situation. Extra fear for his coworkers crossed his mind. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Realizing the gun had cooled, he slipped it back into his belt.

Movement crossed the corner of his eye and his head jerked to the door. He leapt to the door and saw to his relief it was locked. He grabbed the string and closed the blinds. He tried not to think too hard on what moved behind the glass.

He finally turned to look at the fire escape behind the window. Walking up to it, he realized there were no ways to open it. _It can't be too thick, _he wondered. Glancing back at the desk, he reached for and grabbed a lamp. He hoisted it behind his shoulder and couldn't help but yell a little as he swung it forward.

"AAAAAGH," he screamed as the lamp shattered through the glass.


	3. Chapter 3

Stephen stood there, panting. Swinging a lamp through glass takes more effort than you'd think. He calmly leaned back and set the lamp back on the desk. "Phew," he said with a sigh. He checked his sleeves for cuts and blood. He rubbed his finger on a rather big cut on his right arm shirt, but saw a line of blood coming from his left. He ripped off his cuff and strapped it around his arm. He swallowed when he realized the creatures could smell the blood on him.

The door rattled behind him. He started, then flipped around to stare at the door. A shadow of a head appeared behind the blinds. A groan rattled the window, the strain of a saw on wood sounded behind it. Stephen stared, shocked. He turned and leapt onto the fire exit.

The thin metal under him shook and groaned. He reached and gripped a handlebar next to him. He twisted and started to race up the steps. The fear of the whole rickety contraption breaking below him was strong on his mind. He glanced below him, momentarily forgetting his vertigo. What he saw made his heart sink.

Cars that swerved off the road made a path for more creatures to wander around, in packs it seemed. Some just contained a few Clots and Crawlers, others packed with FleshPounds and Scrakes. Blood stained the concrete and suspicious chunks lay scattered around the sidewalks.

Stephen's vertigo was recognized and made an attack on his knees. They locked and he felt himself tipping over. He braced himself on the handles as his body bent over. His muscles locked in their position and he hung there for a few moments. Catching his breath, he straightened to the noise of a Gorefast stepping onto the fire exit.

He watched it take a few more steps before slowly looking around. The dark red head turned and slowly made a panoramic shot of the street below. It took a few more steps forward and turned to the steps to Stephen.

_SHIT, _he swore in his mind as his hands fumbled for his gun. His mouth was agape as it slipped from his fingers, the cracks on the floor, landed on the street and let off a round. All the creatures stopped and turned to the pistol. The Gorefast looked down too, but looked up and made eye contact with him. It quickly but stiffly stalked toward him.

Stephen backed up to the rail behind him and his hands gripped it tersely. It walked up to him and raised its bloody, grotesque saw arm. Stephen held covered his head with his hands.

A rifle cracked the air above him. He felt the saw arm wrap around his shoulder and drag him down to the floor. He laid there for a moment, waiting for the feel of the Gorefast ripping through his flesh. Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and saw its bloody stump where its head should be. He waited for his breath to catch, but wasn't really surprised when it didn't. _My heart has been stopping and starting so much in the past five minutes, I think it gave up trying to prove its point. _ He pushed himself up and looked around, not forgetting the crack that saved his life._  
_

"Eh!"

Stephen looked up to see a man waving his arms a few floors above him. "Hey!" he called back, then flinched and checked behind him for another thing.

"Catch," the man called down again, then bent over and tossed a rope to him. He caught it easily. He gripped it tensely and swung down. He waited for it to straighten, then climbed what Stephen counted three floors. When he reached the man he said, "'Ello, mate. Name's Alan."

"Stephen Rusher. Or just Rusher," he grunted as he heaved himself onto the metal. Alan reached behind Rusher to untie the rope behind him. "You survived the massacre, eh?"

"Barely. I don't think anyone else did," Rusher said solemnly.

"We're pretty secure up here, but it's only a matter of time before the Scrakes cut through the barricades we made." Alan guided Rusher to the entrance of the fire exit. "Yes, you're the only person we pulled off those floors."

"So, not all the floors were broken into?"

Alan stepped into a squarish hole cut from the glass and motioned him through. "Out of the seventeen floors of this building, the bottom six were breached. And to think, all of the upper floors thought that the building was gaudy, rising ten floors above the others. But it ended up being the only thing saving the upper floors."

Alan and Rusher walked through the office and out the door. Alan turned and closed the door behind them, inserting the key an turning the lock.


	4. Chapter 4

"So no one else survived, eh?" Alan asked again. He guided Rusher down the hall, where he could hear human voices.

Rusher replied, "Not that I know of. Everyone died in the group I was in." His throat suddenly caught and he grew quiet.

Alan nodded respectfully. The two walked down the hall toward the voices he heard.

The pair passed several other survivors down the hall they walked. Most were quiet and their gaunt faces stared sightlessly at the structures that guarded their lives.

However, one face perked up at the moving people. "Hey, party people! Whazzup?"

Alan's face darkened significantly at the man. "Here is our American representative, Jack Hathaway."

Hathaway grinned at Rusher and ripped out his hand. Rusher hesitated but slowly raised his own and gripped it with the certainly oblivious man's. Either that or he is a little insane. No sane person can be happy and laughing with their world currently dying behind the doors.

"Well, someone's chipper, aren't they?" Rusher smirked at the man before him as their hands separated.

"Hey, somebody's gotta be the sun in this dark hell." Hathaway's smile faded as a thought crossed his mind. "Lower floor guy, huh?"

Rusher nodded, bracing himself for the flood of questions the upper survivors would no doubt ask.

Jack's mouth tightened in a straight line. "I knew a guy down there. Erik Jonathan, Accounting? Know him?"

"Not really. I was more in the desk area, anyway."

"…Okay."

Hathaway nodded once, soberly. "Well, I'll let Alan show you the area. Hopefully see you around?"

Rusher said, "Yeah." Hathaway grinned for a second then turned and walked down the light hallway.

Alan's face cleared when the man left. Rusher noticed and raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with him?"

Alan turned back to him smiling, and slapped his shoulder. "Ah, nothing that matters."

He turned back to the room opposite that Hathaway left, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Here's where we gathered! Very few exits with entrances in an excellent position to block. Most peop-" Alan's voice was cut off by a coming woman.

"Hello, Rebecca Carey from Publicity here." The blond woman smiled nicely at the pair. "Are you planning on staying here? Or letting us know what's happening down there?"

"Uhhh…." Rusher looked at Alan helplessly. Dealing with people was never a strong suit with him, and knowing all these people want a piece of him is shortening his breath. He mostly dealt with file sorting at his desk.

Alan ushered the reporter away from Rusher, saying, "Stephen will address us all later, okay? Pass it along." The woman protested but eventually gave up and walked away.

"Now, where was I?" He laughed. "Excuse them. All of our heads are a little scrambled, and our social protocols are gone for the time being."

Rusher smiled knowingly. "Anyway, continue the tour."

"Well, this used to be a showing room for the company, but makes for an excellent last stand area." Alan's voice faded away as Rusher looked across the hall. It was an exquisite room with the available furniture (tables and chairs) pushed up against the three large, thankfully heavy-looking wooden doors. Rusher noticed with amusement the cane between the handles on one set. An older looking man sat against the wall, probably the owner of said cane.

The roof was painted gold and wooden barrier was painted red, creating a fancy feel for the meeting hall. People were huddled in the middle, whispering frantically and casting frequent glances his way. He noticed a certain blond head crouched in there. He sighed again and started to pay attention back to what Alan was saying.

"… And then the installing was a nightmare! Let me tell you….."

"Hey, Alan," Rusher said, gently prodding him away from his speech.

"Oh, yeah. Um, why don't you take a look around? You'll probably spend a lot of time here, haha."

Rusher nodded. He turned to the crowd, looked at them, then looked away. He walked toward one set of doors and felt an odd feeling crawl up his back.


End file.
